Flying Giants
by darkbloodylegs
Summary: What Sirius Black and Rubeus Hagrid experienced on Hallween, 1981


The portkey buzzed softly underneath the giant's hand as he fell to his knees in front of the smoldering ruin. His black eyes widened as he took in the absolute destruction of what he remembered to be quite the charming home.

A low whine nearby caused him to whip around; a black dog was crouching by a motorcycle, head held low and tail tucked underneath its belly.

"S'alright, Serius," Hagrid told the dog. "S'only me."

The dog tentatively slunk to the giant's side, as if to see him better; Hagrid saw that he was trembling. Unable to resist, he threw a hand over the dog's back, rubbing softly.

"I know," he told it, feeling his voice choke under the assault of a repressed sob. "I don' know if I can even go in there… can we go together?"

Instead of answering, Hagrid felt the flesh under his arm ripple; soon instead of a dog, a man on all fours rested. He looked up at Hagrid with sad, gray eyes.

"I suppose we'd best get to it," he said, attempting a smile and failing miserably. He stood and offered a hand to help the oldest Black son to stand up. "'Fore the ministry shows up, right? And that Skeeter lady, she's bound to be here any second now. Bloody vultures."

Sirius opened his mouth to reply—but was cut short as a tiny cry rang from the dilapidated house. They both stiffened. "_Harry," _the animagus moaned. "So he is alive…" his knees buckled slightly underneath him; Hagrid kept up a bruising grip on his shoulder to keep him standing.

"Wands out," he told Hagrid, his voice suddenly all business. "I'm not sure how safe it is in there." He waited until Hagrid's pink umbrella was extended fully before him before giving a curt nod. "In we go."

The two crept tentatively over the broken door into the threshold; it was so dark they couldn't see a thing. A quiet "lumos" from Serius was all Hagrid heard before a sharp gasp pierced the darkness.

The dog-man let out a sound Hagrid had never heard anything utter before, a sound of complete sorrow and loss, and soon he understood why because right in the entryway of the house lay the motionless body of James Potter.

"James…" Serius whispered, sitting back with a thump before the body. James' hazel eyes were wide open, the glasses askew on his young face. Clad in blue pajamas, his body was contorted as if he were trying to surge forward before being blasted backwards; obviously he had died intending to fight. His wand was nowhere in sight.

Wordlessly, James' best friend cleared the debris and rubble of the broken house from his friend's face and hands, pushed his glasses so that they stayed straight on his nose. "He's still warm," Serius whispered, sounding sick.

The tears in Hagrid's eyes were overflowing now as he too knelt by James' side. He had no words to offer anyone; he felt utterly miserable. Finally, he spoke.

"Harry."

It was the only word Serius needed to hear. Standing slowly, a determined gleam in his eye, he surveyed the house. The tiny kitchen was empty, the stairs mostly blocked by destroyed bits of furniture. With a wave of his wand, he cleared the pathway for the two of them.

"Watch your step," he told Hagrid in a hard voice. "I don't know how well the stairs are holding up."

There was no need for conversation as the two ascended the stairs, only a deep sense of dread; they knew what they were going to find, but knowing did nothing to prepare them for the sight of that long, blood-red hair spread wildly on the ground of the closet-sized nursery.

Lily was crumpled in a ball on the wooden floor and for a wild moment Hagrid thought she was only sleeping, or maybe unconscious, but her absolute stillness gave her away. With tender arms, Hagrid found himself lifting the dead woman into his arms, holding her to his chest as if hoping the sound of his heart beating would encourage her heart to do the same. This time he did sob, a dry sound that snapped him back to reality.

Sirius was peering into the crib Lily had been resting at the base of, giving an odd smile.

"Hey, buddy," he said, his voice cracking. A tiny hand appeared, reaching for his godfather. Sirius obligingly dropped his hands into the crib, lifting the eighteen-month-old child. Hagrid quickly turned his back; though he knew it was silly, he didn't want Harry to see his mother like this.

"Oh!" there was alarm in Sirius' tone. After settling Lily on the ground, her back to the wall – _Dumbledore and the ministry will make sure she gets a proper burial, _he reminded himself—he went to see what had upset the man.

Blood dripped sluggishly down a cut from the baby's tear-crusted face; his forehead had clearly bled profusely. Heart racing, Hagrid rummaged in the many pockets of his coat before finding a bottle of water and a clean handkerchief, which he used to dab away the bloodstains.

Underneath the baby's messy black hair, the two men examined the jagged mark left on Harry's head. "Is that from…" Sirius whispered, sounding horrified. Hagrid looked at the younger man gravely.

"You know any healing spells?"

A tap of the wand later and the cut now looked to be several days old, clotting and undoubtedly scarring.

Harry, snuggling into the comfort of his godfather's familiar arms and the sudden alleviation of pain, seemed ready to doze.

"I'd better get 'im to Dumbledore," Hagrid said gently, bundling up several blankets from Harry's crib in his arms.

"Dumbledore?!" Sirius sounded upset. "But I thought I would take him—he's _my _godson, and—"

"It was Dumbledore's orders," Hagrid said, a little more firmly. He wanted to be kind, but knew there wasn't much time; he had to find a way to Surrey before the night was over.

Still looking worried, Sirius allowed Harry to be taken from him.

"Oh, very well," he finally choked out. "Take my motorcycle. I'm not going to be needing it anymore."

Hagrid looked at him in surprise. "You love that motorcycle—"the look in Sirius' eyes was making him feel uneasy. Dark and intense, they spelled trouble. "What are you planning to do?"

"Never mind," Sirius snapped, and before Hagrid had a chance to ask another question, a large dog was speeding away from the room; the click of his toenails down the stairs and out the door followed him.

Tucking the sleeping baby underneath his coat, Hagrid shook his head. He didn't have time to worry about distraught dogs right now; he had a job to do.


End file.
